


Like Clockwork

by murderinlaws



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, No Clones
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-26 23:23:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1706336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murderinlaws/pseuds/murderinlaws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orphan Black AU; There are no clones. No genetic identicals. A detective with Dissociative Identity Disorder, Beth deals with stress differently than most people. It’s messy and no one ever does what they’re told (least of all Sarah), but it works. They work. Together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Delphine

At a quarter ‘til two the last thing she expected was a customer. A bright, grinning customer strolling in like an ordinary weekend brunch. (Though something told her that this woman would never actually do a  _brunch_.) It was too late for a smile that wide. Or too  _early_ , maybe.

Delphine continued to wipe at the already spotless counter without looking down. Instead, her eyes followed the new arrival all the way to the stool a few feet away from her. She hadn’t meant to stare, but she also had little desire to wait on someone else that night.

“We’re closing in 15 minutes,” Delphine informed her. She didn’t bother pulling the pad from her waist pocket. It had been a long day, but she could remember one order.

The woman nodded and reached a stray hand up to straighten the glasses on the bridge of her nose. “That’s cool. I promise I’m not trying to put you out.” She raised her right hand as if swearing an informal oath. “I just had this really intense craving for a milkshake, and I was in the neighborhood.”

“Just a milkshake?” Delphine asked politely.

“Yup. Chocolate, please. If it’s not too much trouble.” The addendum was accompanied with, unsurprisingly, a friendly smile.

Delphine just shook her head, an implied  _No trouble_  in the action.

“Cool. Thanks.” The woman tapped gently against the laminate countertop, her rings echoing a note sharper as she watched Delphine make her dessert. The waitress in question could feel eyes on her though it wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable. Interested, maybe, was how she would describe it. Vaguely curious, perhaps. Delphine was used to it. She caught a lot of gazes at work, particularly of the male variety.

When she finished, Delphine sat the full glass in front of the diner’s sole patron and reached for a nearby napkin dispenser that needed filling. She should probably say something. If her manager were there, he’d be poking his head out from around the corner. He would be wearing a ridiculously exaggerated smile that showed all of his ridiculously white teeth while he brought two fingers together in front of his mouth and brought them out and up, imitating the arch of a smile.  _Smile!_  He would mouth command like there was some way she  _hadn’t_  understood what he was not-so-subtly insinuating. But smiling constantly was exhausting. It made her cheeks hurt.

“So Delphine, huh?” The question was abrupt and unexpected, and Delphine jumped in her place. She didn’t even know how long she had been standing there. Her eyes were glassy and she was just staring off into the distance while she worked on her napkins.

The woman was trying to start a conversation. Or at least, that’s what Delphine assumed. Normally, Delphine was actually great at polite, professional interaction. (That was part of the job description here.  _A good conversationalist_   _who makes customers feel welcome_. Which, of course, was a thinly veiled code for flirting with the male patrons who were constantly trying to smack her ass when she walked by.) She made polite conversation at work. In the lab. At the ridiculous department events that her supervising professor insisted she attend.

But it was five ‘til. Delphine just wanted to go home. She wanted to kick her shoes off and finish studying for the exam she had first thing in the morning.

“Hm?” Delphine hummed, glancing up from the napkin dispenser that she was refilling. With cautiously curious lines etched in her forehead, she met the woman’s friendly gaze. “How did you…”

“Your name tag.” It was a simple statement followed by a simple gesture. The woman jerked her head in the direction of the small plastic rectangle pinned neatly to the front of Delphine’s top. “I’m a regular Sherlock Holmes that way.” She laughed and tossed a playful wink towards Delphine. “I’m Cosima, by the way,” she grinned. There it was again. That blinding smile.

And it was contagious.

Despite the ache in the soles of her feet and the all-around exhaustion plaguing her, Delphine could feel the corners of her mouth turning up ever so slightly. It was nice if almost foreign. This virtual stranger wasn’t the first customer—the first  _person_ —to offer Delphine a smile that day, but this woman—this  _Cosima_ —somehow seemed the most genuine. Perhaps it was the lines and creases that surrounded her mouth. Delphine could tell that she smiled often and easily, but it was more than that. She smiled  _honestly_.

“Delphine.”  As soon as the name slipped through her lips, Delphine shook her head and laughed softly at herself, embarrassed. “But you know that.”

“I do… But no big. I didn’t really give you a chance to introduce yourself properly before jumping to conclusions—however logical they may be. Totally my bad.” She swiped a hand through the air and her bracelets clanged against each other with the movement. “Consider this a blanket apology because I do that a lot.”

“Jump to conclusions?” Delphine probed gently.

“Exactly.” Cosima laughed and shook her head. “But like I said, they’re all entirely logical leaps.” She leaned forward conspiratorially and ushered Delphine closer with a wag of her finger. “That’s kind of why I’m here.” She pulled back. “I’m like, the geek monkey or whatever.” She rolled her eyes and Delphine couldn’t put her finger on what exactly Cosima was talking about anymore. She was certainly a strange one, that much she could tell already.

“I’m sorry? I don’t…” She trailed off.  _Follow_. Delphine didn’t follow.  She wasn’t sure if there was some cultural barrier separating her from this obviously American woman (though maybe Canadian, she couldn’t tell the difference yet,) or if there was something more, something subtle that she just wasn’t picking up on.

“Nevermind. Sorry. Went off on a tangent there.” Cosima waved her hand back and forth as if to brush away what she’d said prior. “But you. You’re French.” Another astute observation. “Your accent is too strong to be from Quebec,” she explained with a shrug before Delphine could even question her. “Plus, I mean, your name is  _Delphine_. That narrows it down to the French speaking countries. France was just the obvious guess.”

Delphine listened with wide eyes and interested ears. “You’re quite good.”

“I know.” Cosima winked again, obviously teasing. “So what are you doing here?” She took a drink from her milkshake before abruptly pulling back and shaking her head wildly. “God, that came out totally rude, I’m sorry. I just meant, why Canada? Kinda far from home, no?”

“It’s fine,” Delphine chuckled. She meant it though. “I’m an international student. I’m getting my PhD. This is just…”

“Paying the bills?”

Delphine nodded. “Yes, exactly.”

“Lame.” Cosima tilted her head to the side and scrunched her nose in distaste. “What are you studying?”

“Immunology. Host-parasite relationships.”

“Oh, cool, cool. I’m evo-devo.” Another lopsided grin. “Studying evolutionary developmental biology,” Cosima explained before Delphine could ask.

“Do you go to this university?” Delphine pointed a stray finger towards the darkness outside the small diner. Somewhere out there was the University of Toronto.

“Um. No.” Cosima shook her head. “No, not quite. I said ‘studying,’ and I am… Just…” She trailed off and waved her hand in the space between, her wrist turning in quick circles. “Independently. I’m not enrolled anywhere yet, but grad school’s the dream. It’s just complicated. You know how it is.” She shrugged and took another drink. There wasn’t much left though and she ended up just slurping from the bottom. “That’s probably my cue, huh?”

“Hmm?” Delphine hummed the question, frowning before realizing what Cosima was referring to. She looked up to the mounted clock on the wall. Its plastic face was dirty and scratched to hell, but the time was still visible. Somehow it was already after two. She stole a glance over her shoulder to see if Sydney was still in the kitchen or if he had packed up and left without her. Sure enough, the kitchen was empty. At least from what she could see. “I  _should_  probably close before anyone else gets cravings for sugar and chocolate…”

“Hey, it’s a totally legitimate craving, man. Plus, Beth is strictly anti everything sugary and delicious, so I’ve gotta take what I can get. She’s all about the exercise and shit… Empty calories are not conducive to marathon training.”

“Beth?” Delphine questioned, eyebrows raised while she walked over to the cash register and quickly charged Cosima for the milkshake. (If it was up to her, the drink would be on the house, but her manager was more strict than usual when it came to counting the till recently, and Delphine couldn’t afford to pick up the tab on her own. Still, it was a thought.)

Cosima waved the question away. “Nevermind. She’s just a friend of mine.” She smiled like she’d just told some inside joke that only she was privy to.

Setting the check down in front of Cosima, Delphine just nodded politely.

Without tearing her eyes from Delphine’s, Cosima pulled a single plastic card from her bra. She smirked and handed the card over the counter. “I don’t like carrying purses,” she supplied simply.

Delphine cleared her throat in an attempt to avoid laughter, but it was futile. Muffled laughter passed through her lips and she brought a hand up to cover her mouth. “You are not like anyone I’ve ever met,” she noted aloud, an observation of her own.

Cosima tilted her head in mock curiosity, but it was obvious she knew the answer to her question before she even asked it. “In like, not a bad way?”

“Not a bad way at all.” Delphine mirrored Cosima’s casual phrasing and looked down to the card in her hand.  _Elizabeth Childs_  was the name written in silver block letters.  _She’s just a friend of mine_. Cosima’s voice echoed in her head, and Delphine wondered if this was the same person, if Elizabeth Childs for short for  _Beth_.  _Beth_  who didn’t let Cosima have milkshakes.

As if sensing Delphine’s silent confusion, Cosima cleared her throat and gestured between herself and the card. “Milkshakes on Beth. Don’t tell her.” She wore an easygoing grin and though Delphine really should not be okay with this, she didn’t object. Protocol ordered her to turn down the card, to report this strange woman she’d just met. But the charge was minor. It was only four dollars, and Cosima didn’t _seem_  like someone who would steal a credit card.

Delphine just swiped the card like nothing was out of the ordinary, like she was on autopilot. When the receipt printed, she walked it back over to Cosima with a black pen for her signature. She didn’t watch as Cosima’s hand moved across the rectangular sheet. Plausible deniability?

When she finished, Cosima handed the pen off to Delphine, gently slipping it back into her hand. Cosima’s thumb pressed gently against the other woman’s wrist and lingered there for a moment before she pulled it back. “It was nice meeting you, Delphine from France.”

“Enchantée.”

Cosima grinned widely turned and walked towards the exit. Delphine half expected her to pause when she reached it, to turn around and somehow get in the last word. She didn’t.

Once the diner was empty again, Delphine picked up the in house copy of the receipt. Below Cosima’s signature (though it actually very clearly read  _BChilds_ ) was a sloppy line of text.  _I promise I’m not a criminal._

 

* * *

 

It had become a sort of routine. Cosima would saunter in about half an hour before Delphine’s shift was up, the obscene amount of silver around her wrist jingling with each step she took towards the counter, and she would take a different seat every night. ( _To mix things up_ , she’d said.  _Gotta keep things fresh, you know?_ ) The two of them would talk long after closing, Delphine explaining her dissertation and Cosima asking various questions. (Cosima was one of the most curious people she’d ever met. There was such a strong desire to learn, and she showed more interest in the subject than most people in Delphine’s graduate program.) And then half past the hour or so, Cosima would help close up—even though Delphine constantly insisted that it really wasn’t necessary.

_Cosima, sit. I can do it. You really don’t have to—_

_Relax, will you? I kept you here this late; it’s the least I can do._

It was near two when the familiar face stepped into the diner. But something was off. Delphine looked up from the counter with a puzzled expression as she took in Cosima’s appearance. Gone were the form-fitting, patterned dresses and oversized bracelets and rings. Instead, Cosima donned a black leather jacket and tight, dark jeans. Hair that was normally up in a messy ponytail was down and wavy as it fell over her shoulders. The glasses that always framed her face were gone too. Even her walk was different. The way she carried herself.

But still, that wasn’t the most glaring difference between this Cosima and that Cosima. It was her mouth. The easygoing smile that dominated Cosima’s face last time they met was nonexistent. In its place was a subtle frown. The corners of her lips were turned down and the lines around her mouth said that that was their near permanent address.

How could this possibly be the same person?

“Cosima?” Delphine ventured, her brows furrowed in a curious confusion.

“What?” The voice that belonged to this body was not Cosima’s. It was heavily accented. English, most likely. Rough. The woman—“Cosima”—seemed surprised at first, but recovered quickly. Understanding colored her harsh face before it was replaced by a knowing smirk. “Yeah, sorry, Frenchie. Cos is out right now.”

 


	2. Beth

Things worked. Not perfectly, by any means, but well enough. Though that hadn’t always been the case, for the last few years, they had a sort of informal agreement. (Whether or not they always adhered to those terms most often depended on the mood that Sarah was in.) They had guidelines. A code. But more than that, they all had their purpose.

Sarah had gotten them out of more slippery situations than they could count. (Though Beth would never forgive her for drinking the station’s hand soap. Whether or not their goal was achieved-- _it totally bloody was_ \--was beside the point. Her stomach churned for days after that and she’d spent more time hunched over the toilet bowl than when she’d had that stomach flu in college.) Sarah stood up for them. She held her own when Beth couldn’t. She was rash and short tempered, but protective and guarded. Strangely, she was also English.

Alison was the control freak. She stress cleaned and couponed. (Occasionally, musical theatre was involved, but Beth tried to keep it as minimal as possible. Being in a musical when you haven’t been to a single rehearsal tended to cause a stuttering actress with stage fright to dash off stage in the middle of Act II. Or so she’d heard.) Alison was paranoid and most often, in denial about their unconventional situation. More than anything, she wanted a normal life.

Cosima was by far the most laid back. She preferred to leave the stressing to Alison and most often, just let it roll off her back—which was usually made a lot easier by the stash of pot that Beth could never seem to find. (Beth wouldn’t have had as much of a problem with it if she hadn’t been forced to use eye drops in the car outside the station on more than one occasion.) She was also the scientist and had the most passionate desire to learn. She was fascinated by the world around her, and their relationship to each other.

And Beth was the reason they were all there.

She was 13 when she was finally diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder. (Though it was renamed in 1994, it was probably still best known as “multiple personality disorder.”) At first, people just assumed she had an active imagination, and then there was the slew of misdiagnoses. Schizophrenia, first. Then Asperger syndrome and borderline personality disorder. After she was correctly diagnosed, it got a little better. At least for a while.

She remembered her first therapy session clearly. Her doctor was an older man, probably in his late 50’s. His hair was streaked with grey and thin wire glasses circled his eyes. Beth supposed he was nice enough. It wasn’t his professional demeanor that she necessarily remembered. It was his pocket watch.

Hanging from a chain on his vest, he pulled the watch from his pocket and opened its face. Its hands ticked and tocked in perfect working order. But it wasn’t the clock that was important. _It’s what makes it tick_ , he’d said. He turned it around, so she could see the back before popping off the silver plate and revealing turning wheels and cogs.

_What do you see?_

_I don’t know._

_Beth._

_Wheels turning. Shit working like it’s supposed to._

_Clocks are more than synchronization, Beth._

_I don’t know what you want me to say._

_A single wheel turning in perfect time on its own doesn’t make a clock tick. It’s how they work together._

_That’s a stupid analogy._

But it didn’t take long for her parents to go from behavioral therapy to medicating her. It wasn’t even like they didn’t have the money to keep paying for her sessions. They did. They had more than enough. Maybe they just didn’t care. Didn’t have the time to care. Running a multi-million dollar corporation didn’t allot for much time for bonding with your damaged daughter.

Her second year of high school, she was on six different medications.

 _We just want you to have a normal life_ , they’d say. _Don’t you want to fit in with the kids your own age,_ they’d ask. _You know we love you just the way you are_ , they’d claim. _We just want to help you, Beth._

But they never really gave her a choice.

The meds did their job, mostly. They were never joined by an alternate personality for dinner. Beth stopped starting fights at school. (Though she would insist to her parents that she hadn’t actually been the one to start them. _Beth, you can’t use your illness as an excuse anymore. You need to take responsibility for your own actions_.) For all intents and purposes, the meds made her _normal_.

But her grades started slipping. She quit the track team. She stopped engaging. She didn’t do much of anything, really. She felt despondent and disconnected. She felt broken. Hollow. Like the meds scooped out her insides and left her a shell. A shell who tried to go through the motions only to find that she didn’t care anymore.

It was a long time before things got better, and they were only able to do that once they got worse. So much worse.

But that time was behind them now. They got through it. In the most rough, haphazard, sloppily put together way they knew how, to be sure, but they were still standing. There were times when things would get bad again, and it was the worst when Beth was under too much stress, but it worked. Without the meds. They supported each other. (Most of the time.) They had a system, a set of loose guidelines that they all followed.

But Sarah, standing in the middle of the empty diner at 2 in the morning, was breaking them all.

Sarah’s true motives had always been a mystery to Beth. She threw caution to the wind, but she did what she thought needed to be done. (Though Beth wasn’t sure which standard she was measuring herself up against.) Generally, that was for the greater good of them all. Recently, not so much.


	3. Sarah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies that it's taken so long for me to update this. I have a lot of plans for this fic, and have no plans of giving it up in the near future. I just hope that y'all bear with me. I post these chapters as soon as I finish writing them (and my beta can look them over.)
> 
> Feedback is greatly appreciated! (It really does help me get chapters out faster. Good encouragement.)

Delphine’s face alone would have been worth the late night trip. Sarah had always gotten a kick out of that. (It certainly wasn’t the first time she’d done something of the like, either.) But she supposed she had business to attend to. If you could even call it that.

_Sorry, Frenchie. Cos is out right now._

“I’m sorry, I don’t…” She trailed off and Sarah was left to assume the rest of her statement. (It wasn’t hard to do.) “I’m not sure I understand.”

Sarah shrugged and continued to walk further into the diner. She noticed Delphine take a step back (unconsciously or not, she couldn’t tell,) but she didn’t comment on it. She figured she’d scared the other woman enough for now. Cosima was already going to be planning her funeral as it stood. Not that it would matter in the end.

“I’m totally kidding.” Sarah forced a smile and an American accent. Of all of Beth’s alternates, Sarah was the best at this, at pretending to be someone she wasn’t. She was a chameleon. (A valuable skill wasted on a con artist, according to Alison.) Collectively, she was their survival instincts. Alone, she was a wrecking ball and her own first priority.

Delphine still looked hesitant, and really, there was no reason she shouldn’t. Sarah hadn’t exactly been aiming for subtle. Then again, she wasn’t really sure what she was aiming for. Fun, mostly. Sarah had typically been the _think on your feet_ type of person. She acted first. Thought out the consequences never. And now, she was curious. Curious about where Cosima was spending her time. About who she was talking to. About what she was telling them.

Sarah had every intention of leaving this all behind. She didn’t want to do it anymore. Not the diner, but _this_. Every rule. Every moment of their lives that they had to share and give up. It all felt suffocating and restrictive. So she ran. She always had.

But something was stopping her. At least momentarily. And she couldn’t even put her finger on what exactly it was. Sarah didn’t typically allow herself to be tied down, but for some reason, the first chance she got, she had gone there.

She didn’t think that she was much like Cosima at all, didn’t think they had much in common. If there was any way they could _actually_ have a conversation, Sarah didn’t doubt that it would somehow end up catty and she would just leave, irritated. But she had someone that Cosima didn’t. Though she didn’t deserve him, Sarah had Felix. Every time she’d run, she’d had someplace to go. For all intents and purposes, Felix was her brother. Beth had Paul (though it wasn’t really a secret that none of Beth’s alternates actually _liked_ the guy.) She had Art, a partner who, (though he didn’t know all of their secrets,) always had her back. Even Alison had people. She had Sarah Stubbs and when she could, she threw herself into community theatre. In a strange way, Alison even had Felix.

But Cosima didn’t.

While Sarah didn’t necessarily feel _guilty_ for running, she was aware enough to know that this person, that _Delphine_ , was the first real friend that Cosima had had in a long time—and she was taking that away. The least she could do is supply some semblance of closure, some sort of goodbye.

When Delphine didn’t speak, her eyes just following Sarah’s movement, Sarah took it as her cue to spew more bullshit. “Weird joke, I guess. Sorry.” She waved her hand through the air in an attempt to mimic Cosima’s gesticulations. Really, it just looked like she was wiping a dirty window. “My sister’s clothes. I thought I would try something different.” She paused, searching for an appropriate _Cosima explanation_. “I wanted to ya know, shake it up. Or whatever.” She pointed to her eyes and the sore lack of eyeglasses. “Contacts. Ya like?”

She probably should have changed. At the very least nicked Cosima’s glasses. Maybe she would have had she thought this whole venture through. But then again, Sarah couldn’t stand the ridiculous prints she consistently found in their shared closet. She hadn’t planned to be there for very long anyway.

“I see.” Her face said the opposite--much to Sarah’s irritation. At least she wasn’t backpedaling anymore. Unconsciously or otherwise. “They’re nice,” Delphine answered after a beat.

“Look, I just came to say goodbye.” Sarah attempted a smile. The left side of her mouth lifted awkwardly and she showed a full set of teeth. She looked as uncomfortable as she felt.

Delphine’s expression softened for the first time since Sarah had stepped through the glass door. “Goodbye?”

“Yeah. Um.” Sarah tilted her head to the left, hovering about an inch above her shoulder. “I’m kind of skipping town for a bit. Something came up back home. In the States… Which is where I’m from.” She internally winced. Smooth.

“Oh.” Delphine frowned. “Is everything…”

“Totally. Yeah, yeah.” Sarah nodded, picking up the question that had faded into the space between them. More window wiping. “Just stuff. I should probably get going now, actually. It’s late.”

Sarah took a few steps backward and offered Delphine a small wave. “Cool. Yeah. I’ll just get out of your hair.” She jerked her thumbs behind her, towards the door that she had walked through only minutes prior. She didn’t wait for a response. She just turned and started shuffling towards the exit. She already regretted walking in there to begin with. She wasn’t good at this. Everything she touched, crumbled under her fingertips.

“Cosima. Wait.” It was the sound of Delphine’s voice that caused her to pause mid-stride more so than the name that she didn’t answer to. Sarah didn’t turn around, but she stopped. Her eyes were still glued to the exit. She couldn’t see the expression that played across the other woman’s face, but she heard the sigh, the indecision. “I will… see you again, yes?”

“I don’t know.” Sarah answered without skipping a beat. Her accent slipped with her last word, but if Delphine noticed, she hadn’t said anything. It was probably the first honest answer that Sarah had given since she’d gotten there. Well, except of course, for her opening line. But that had been more for her own humorous benefit than Cosima’s. “You’ve got my number.” It was an assumption that Delphine didn’t seem to disprove, but then again, she didn’t stick around long enough to find out. She was uncomfortable. Delphine made her uncomfortable. The friendship that she was going to tear away from Cosima made her uncomfortable.

“I’ve really gotta go.”

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t long before Sarah was driving across town. It was a drive that she had done far more times than she could possibly put a number to. Even before she could drive, she’d taken a bus. She’d used her legs. Though the end location had occasionally varied, when things were turned upside down for her, she always went to Felix. He was her brother. Not biologically, maybe, but in every way that mattered.

“You’re late.” Felix declared as he slid open the door to his converted studio. (They hadn’t used proper greetings or introduction in years.) He took a step back, looking Sarah up and down before she followed him inside. “Where were you? You were supposed to be here hours ago. All the bloody clubs have stopped serving by now.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled the apology while her jacket slid off her shoulders. She tossed it carelessly in the direction of Felix’s couch and walked over to the refrigerator to pull out a bottle of whatever beer he had. (Really, the only reason he stocked any was for Sarah. He preferred the harder stuff. Or at the very least, the fruitier.)

“Well?”

“Well, what?” Sarah fell back onto the couch near the chair that Felix was occupying, cross-legged. Lacking a bottle opener, she slammed the glass bottle against the coffee table a foot in front of her. A subtle, but triumphant smile pulled at her mouth when the bottle cap flew free.

Felix glared at her and gave her a look that very clearly said, _watch it_.

She returned it with a look of her own: _You pulled this out an alley. Who fuckin’ cares?_

He rolled his eyes. “Where were you?”

“Oh. Right.” Sarah took a long drink before shrugging. “I had something to take care of. It took longer than I thought.”

Unsurprisingly, Felix didn’t appear satisfied. For as close as they were, it had always been like pulling teeth trying to get anything personal out of Sarah. She opened up eventually and was usually the better for it, but it was never easy. “And?”

“And what? Just a chat with a friend.” She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “It’s not a big deal, okay?”

“You don’t have any friends,” he pointed out matter-of-factly.

“Thanks,” she said flatly before tipping her bottle back again.

“Well it’s true. You’ve got who exactly? Me. Contacts don’t count. Maybe Big Dick Paul…” He trailed off with a mischievous smirk.

“Oy! Don’t.” Sarah shook her head testily. “Not in the mood, all right?” She paused. Another drink. “Just a friend of Cos’s, yeah? Leave it out.”

Leaning forward, Felix raised his eyebrows. “Now I’m interested. Not that I don’t love our hippie starchild science geek, but Cosima’s got even less friends than you do.”

“Yeah, I know.” A subtle frown. Cosima’s isolation wasn’t necessarily a secret.

For a moment, disbelief colored Felix’s face before it was overshadowed by amusement. And then a strange mixture of the two. “Holy shit.” He fell back into his chair and his wide eyes searched Sarah’s. “You actually care, don’t you?” Now he was just teasing. (Probably.)

Sarah rolled her eyes and finished off her bottle in a single drink. “No, I don’t. Trust me. I don’t. It was just something I had to take care of.”

“You’re completely full of it,” he accused through amused laughter. “Sarah Manning actually gives a shit.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m not getting into this.” Sarah shook her head and stood up. She didn’t want to have this conversation at all, least of all sober. She tossed Felix a look over her shoulder that warned him to lay off while she made her way over to the fridge for a second (and third) beer.

Felix’s eyes followed Sarah across the room and back. He sighed and supplied a resigned, “fine.” She could almost sense his hesitation. “So you’re leaving then.” It wasn’t a question. They had been through the same routine many times before. He didn’t need to know what she had said to Delphine to know what Sarah was going to do.

When Sarah sat back down onto the couch, she held up the second bottle to Felix, a silent peace offering. He didn’t take it. “What happened this time?” He was irritable now, but it appeared that he knew better than to ask about Paul. That was a past mistake that she wasn’t particularly keen on revisiting at the moment. Especially considering the current circumstances.

She released a heavy breath and brought both hands up in front of her chest, a bottle still in one. A silent, _what do you want me to say?_ “Just the usual Sarah shite-storm.” Not technically untrue. She didn’t want to talk about it.

“When?”

“In the morning.” Sarah didn’t ask if she could spend the night with him. She didn’t have to. She knew it bothered him that she didn’t, but she also knew he would never say no.

Felix nodded, disappointment plain on his face. She felt like she was constantly letting him down. His gaze shifted from Sarah down to the coffee table and then back up to his sister. “What about Kira?” He asked, meeting Sarah’s eyes with a boldness that he reserved for talking about _her_.

Kira was complicated. More than that, Kira was special. And she was another safely guarded secret locked away deep inside.

“She’s better off without me.”

There wasn’t any room for argument. At least, not right now. Sarah had made up her mind. She was done letting people down. They were all better off without her. She just complicated things and hurt people close to her. Felix had called her a ‘wrecking ball’ on more than one occasion, destroying everything she touched. She only wished she could leave Beth, Alison, and Cosima just the same.

“You know that’s not true,” Felix countered gently.

“Yeah, it is.” Sarah tipped back the bottle in her hand, taking a long and much needed drink. Felix would take the hint. (Hopefully.)

He did. At least, if the clearing of his throat was any indication. He leaned back in his chair and brought his legs up. His feet rested on the edge of the cushion and he hugged his knees. “Have you told your ‘sisters’ that you’re skipping town again?”

“Oh god.” Sarah rolled her eyes tiredly. “First off, they’re not my bloody sisters.” She shook her head. “And second, I told you that’s not how it works, you twat. I don’t _tell_ them anything. They’ll figure it out whenever they come ‘round.”

“Which is when exactly?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?”

 


	4. Felix

_**Toronto, September 1997** _

“You can’t be here,” an authoritative voice from the back of the auditorium shouted. From where he was sitting at the edge of the stage, Felix couldn’t get a very good view of the new arrival. As he squinted, he could see the small woman marching down the main aisle of audience seats. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, and she walked with her back way too straight and rigid to be in his year. That much he could tell already. She didn’t have the sixth grade slouch.

“What?” Felix asked, confused and with a thick accent.

“I said you’re not supposed to be here,” she repeated.

It was obvious that this woman thought she was threatening. She had an air of self-sophistication and an expression that said she had an infinitely large list of things to do more important than talking to Felix. He’d met her type before, and he really wasn’t in the mood.

“Last I checked, this was a public school. Public school, public property,” he countered defiantly. To him, it was logical. (The fact that he had crawled through a hole in a chain link fence notwithstanding.)

She scoffed before smiling sweetly. “Actually, sweetheart, the public school is down the street. Which I’m sure you know.” She looked him up and down. “I can tell that you’re not from around here, so I won’t press charges, but I suggest that you evacuate the premises as quickly as possible. You’re trespassing.”  

Private school girl. Typical and completely predictable. And apparently, she was still going.

“I’m supposed to be rehearsing, and I can’t do that with you sitting here like some vagrant. And look, I don’t have a problem with the gays. Obviously.” She made a wide, sweeping gesture towards the stage and surrounding seats. “Maybe under different circumstances, we could even be friends.” Her tone conveyed the opposite.

“I’m not gay,” Felix snapped angrily, regretting the eyeliner he had decided to put on that morning. And it wasn’t the first time that day. Far from it.

“Of course you’re not. Fine. My apologies.” She shook her head and put a manicured hand on her hip. “But you still can’t stay here. It’s a closed rehearsal,” she repeated.

He wanted to argue. He wanted to snap at her and defiantly inform her that he wasn’t going anywhere. He didn’t _have_ to leave if he didn’t want to. But the truth was that his retort was caught in the back of his throat. The truth was that he didn’t have any other place to go. Not until his foster mother was home from work. Felix had gone through the same routine enough times to know that the group of boys that he had been running from were waiting right outside the fence that he had crawled under. They were never satisfied by all of the insults and threats they hurled at him on a daily basis. They craved blood.

“I can’t leave,” he finally mumbled, his eyes downcast and his jaw clenched. He hated this, revealing the truth to this girl he just met, but already couldn’t stand. He didn’t want to be at the mercy of yet another person. He wanted to fight back. He just didn’t know how. “I don’t have anywhere to go.”

The other girl was quiet for a few long seconds. He couldn’t see her with his eyes glued to the floor and angry tears lining them. He wanted to look up, but he knew better.

“I’m sorry, but that—that’s not my problem.” She cleared her throat before shaking her head and bringing her hand up to frame her face. When Felix looked up, he could see the guilt in her eyes, but he knew that she wouldn’t budge. She was making a statement.

He should have expected as much. Rich girl, he reminded himself. Privileged. Entitled. People like her never looked twice at people like him.

“No, it’s not,” he agreed. Felix jumped from the edge of the stage and pushed past the girl on his way down the aisle.

* * *

 

_**Present Day** _

In no way was this a new trend. It happened the most when they were teenagers, but as the two of them entered their 20’s, it hadn’t seemed to slow down. Now, Sarah was creeping on 30 and she was still passed out in his bed, tangled up and sweaty in his sheets. (The recent heat wave assaulting Toronto only made things worse.) Felix was just glad that this time there wasn’t dried vomit in his bed or in her hair. (It had happened before, though to be fair, he was hardly more innocent.)

Currently, sleep crusted the corners of his eyes as he blinked a few times in rapid succession. He didn’t know what time it was, but he did know that Sarah, (whether she was still leaving or not,) was going to have a wicked hangover when she woke up. What started off as a few beers quickly escalated. ( _Beer before liquor…_ he had warned, his tone both ominous and teasing. Naturally, Sarah hadn’t listened.)

“Hey,” Felix mumbled drowsily, “United States of Sarah.” He poked his sleeping sister but only received a grunt in return. “Lazy bitch.”

Despite his body’s overwhelming desire for the contrary, he rolled out of bed, yawning as he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’m way too good for you, you know.” He tossed the declaration over his shoulder before standing up. Another yawn. “Why yes, Fe, I’d love a coffee, thank you. My head is killing me,” he said in a voice a note higher than his own. “No problem, sister.”

Dragging his feet, Felix made his way over to the condensed kitchen area to put on a pot. While he scooped coffee grounds into the filter, he stole another glance at Sarah’s sleeping form. Most people probably wouldn’t understand why he put up with her like he did, why he would never abandon her even though it seemed as if Sarah hadn’t thought twice about it. He knew his foster mother didn’t.

The two of them had met when they were young though she was a few years older than he was. Two older boys had been trying to rough him up when Sarah stepped in. She punched the taller one square in the jaw right then and there before threatening his friend. ( _Oy! Why don’t you arseholes pick on someone your own size for a change, eh?_ The one she punched could have been a foot taller than she was. At least, it looked that way to the sixth grade Felix.)

When she offered her hand to help him up off the muddy ground, their eyes locked and he hesitated. He had met her before, but there wasn’t even a spark of recognition in her eyes. Felix hadn’t gotten her name at the time, but even at eleven, he didn’t often forget a face. It was the girl from the auditorium, but everything about her was different, from the clothes she was wearing to her outstretched hand. Maybe they were twins, he thought. (He found out later how far from the truth that was.)

After he took her hand, they were inseparable. Mrs. S, Felix’s foster mother, thought Sarah was a bad influence. She was. Felix didn’t care.

He remembered the next time that Sarah wasn’t Sarah. She was supposed to walk him home from school and she hadn’t shown up. Their school buildings were only next door to each other, so he’d walked over looking for her. Instead, he found the girl from before. She was onstage rehearsing again, and just like the first time, when she spotted him, she ushered him out the door. She didn’t give any explanations.

Felix met Alison, Cosima, and then Beth all before he got Sarah back. Beth thought she was a freak. He thought they were amazing. The years that Beth was on the medication was bad for all of them. He didn’t have anyone to walk him home, but more than that, he lost his sister and his best friends all at once. To be sure, it didn’t _happen_ all at once. It was a gradual progression from when Beth started taking the pills to when they left him completely, when prescription overlapped prescription.

From then on, he tried to protect Sarah, Beth, and the rest of them as much as they had protected him. Beth and Alison were usually paranoid about outsiders finding out about their situation, judging them, but they made an exception for Felix. He was family.

“Felix!” A sharp, commanding voice rang out behind him.

He jumped, startled, but he didn’t even need to turn around to know who it was and what had happened. “Holy shite.” Felix shot an accusing glare as he crossed his arms tightly over his chest. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people. It’s rude.”

“So is making me sleep in that germ infestation you call a bed,” she quipped and folded her arms to mirror Felix, only looking much smaller and infinitely more threatening.

“Sorry, Alison. I’ll remember to wash the sheets next time you want to play invasion of the body snatchers.” He flashed her a sardonic smile. Behind him, the coffeemaker spluttered to a slow stop, indicating the full, dark pot.

Alison glanced over his shoulder at the freshly brewed coffee. He could see her silently working things out, and combined with the throbbing sensation he knew must be throttling her head, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together. “You wouldn’t happen to have an aspirin to go with that? I’ve got a ridiculous headache. No thanks to you and Sarah, I’m sure.”

“The things in my medicine cabinet are a little more recreational than anything you’ll find over the counter—”

She gave him a scolding look.

“— _but_ if you look hard enough, I’m sure you’ll manage to find something to your liking. Or at least, something you can peddle to Scarberia when you’re feeling particularly suburban.”

He smirked. She bristled.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Felix, but I don’t appreciate the accusation.” Alison walked over to the kitchen and took the mug that Felix had just poured for himself.

Felix rolled his eyes and poured himself another cup. “You’re welcome.” He blew lightly against the steaming liquid and looked Alison up and down. “When was the last time you were out to play?”

“I think I’ll check the cabinet after all.” She was dodging the question, naturally, but he wasn’t sure if that was because she just liked to avoid the elephant in the room or if it was because she genuinely didn’t know. From what he understood of their situation, either were valid options, and Alison was almost as bad as Beth--worse, in some ways. Beth may have had a hard time accepting who she was, but at least she recognized it. Alison always seemed to be in denial about something or another.

He didn’t follow her as she set the hot mug down and made her way over to his bathroom. He just watched her with his eyes. It had been about 15 years since they’d met and it still struck him just how different they were. They may have all been in Beth’s body, but they were completely different people.

“Find anything you like?” Felix called before taking another sip.

Alison shook her head as she walked out of the bathroom. “Nothing legal,” she said, turning to head over to the couch instead of the kitchen. He watched her pull Sarah’s jacket on though he knew the smell probably wasn’t pleasant. “I’m going to the store,” she looked down at what she was wearing, “and then going home and taking a shower.”

Felix just nodded. He didn’t try to stop her, and why would he? They may have all been different people, but they still had some things in common: they were stubborn as all hell, for one thing. And he knew what Alison was like after a switch. She needed air, and she needed space.

“Call when you get home, yeah?” He asked as she slid open his large door.

Alison turned and gave Felix a small smile. “I will.” She paused for a moment, her hand still on the screwdriver that she had pulled out of its slot. “She tried to run again, didn’t she?”

He nodded.

 


End file.
